Carus
by Shades
Summary: Harry Potter heard a voice in his head and never expected the revelations that would follow. Qye did not expect to wake up one day and find out exactly what his best friend had done, the ramifications of which will echo through the wizarding and vampire world as war erupts. Turns out separating them did not make things easier.
It was a quiet sound, the gentle beat of the summer rain against the roof and windows of the Burrow. It pattered repetitively, droplets pooling together and growing larger as they slid down the glass.

Ron watched one join another, and another before it finally slid off the end of the window sill and plummeted to the wet ground.

In his hand, the Daily Prophet hung loosely with its wild speculations about the end of the term attack still on its front page, right next to the continued silence from the Ministry about the whereabouts of the Boy Who Lived. The Prophet had run a piece earlier in the week, when one of their reporters – thankfully not Rita Skeeter, as Hermione held her warning high over the unregistered Animagus – had gone to the orphanage the Ministry had designated and did not find him for their questions. There were questions and whispers as to why Harry Potter never made it and where was he now that You Know Who and his vampires were a threat to their world. There had been rumors that he had engaged the Dark Lord during the attack but there was no word from Dumbledore or any of the other staff, who instead commented about how the Hogwarts defenses held during the assault and how the alliance represented with the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had come to their aide.

All this the Daily Prophet said and it was the most Ron knew about one of his best friends.

His parents repeatedly contacted Dumbledore since the day Ron came reluctantly back on the Hogwarts Express. Arthur quietly praised his children's responses and Molly held them tight and praised that they came back safely. They did not hide their concern about the missing teenager. Their brows furrowed and the lines by their eyes grew every day they received vague responses.

Ginny and the twins sat in his room with him, equally silent. Fred was toying with one of their products, an uncharacteristic frown on his face as George waved his wand over their paperwork, his movements stilted. Ginny was quietly stroking a hand down Pig's back, the tiny owl uncharacteristically quiet as his head whirled around the tense room. They had heard their mother whispering urgently into the Floo earlier, trying yet again to get information about Harry. When the Floo shut down and they saw their mother sit down, heavy and silent, they had made their retreat.

On his desk sat the letter from Draco Malfoy.

He had waited two days. Two days and when Hermione had called and he couldn't tell her anything – she had shakily told him she would call and that he best not scream in her ear and to call her sooner if he heard about Harry before, all as her hand gripped his tightly before they had reluctantly separated at King's Cross – he'd broken down, snagged Pig and sent a roughly scrawled message to the pale haired git before he could think twice of it. He hadn't seen Malfoy since the attack and since there had been no casualties reported, he could only hope Malfoy knew something that he didn't.

He had a moment's thought as he had watched the tiny owl streak away if he should have sent something to Sirius as well. But he remembered McGonagall saying the Headmaster would be contacting the families, pale and stiff and avoiding their eyes as she hurried them all to the train station, distractedly fending off their questions and demands to find Harry.

The reply had come several days later, while Ron contemplated Apparating with Fred and George to Hogwarts even if he had no clue if his best friend was still there and no matter that they couldn't directly Apparate there. The letter gave little more information, written as if careful of being intercepted. Malfoy wrote briefly that he had made it to the grounds during the attack and that he was at Hogwarts, watching over their common ground with the last minute allies.

Ron didn't need Hermione to figure it out, although he had owled her a copy.

Harry was at Hogwarts, being treated while Malfoy looked after him, and the Opacre vampires still skulked around.

Ron sat still, staring at the rain, thinking of Hermione's worry, his mother's anxious baking, the heavy silences.

He sat there and wished he could do something, had done something more, and wondering if all this had anything to do with the mysterious Qye next to Harry he had seen on the Marauder's Map before all the students had been evacuated from Hogwarts.

The rain fell, offering nothing.

* * *

Lightning crackled outside their safehouse, its light bouncing off the glass Sirius held. He watched it as it flashed and quickly dissipated but the memory it ignited lingered. All he had of Harry were baby memories, that wretchedly bittersweet night two years ago, the brief moments the year before in Hogsmeade and countless letters.

Sirius drank the rest of his Firewhiskey and returned to the plans. He went through all this, the hiding, the cold, for a godson he barely saw but loved more than his own life. He jotted another possible location for a Death Eater gathering and hoped James and Lily understood he did it all so he could one day be with Harry.

The door creaked open and he glanced up, saw Remus shake the rainwater off his ragged coat before he closed the door and hung it up.

"Any news, Moony?" he asked, looking back down as he crossed off another town they had investigated yesterday. Remus casually inquired about possible work and spoke with people about other newcomers while Sirius kept circling around, trying to pinpoint their lead. He remained undercover as a lone stray, sniffing out the mysterious musty scent they had discovered from one of the Death Eaters they had captured and left for the Aurors, Mad-Eye Moody concealing their traces as Shacklebolt made connections. It had led them all over the country, to typically larger and more Muggle oriented cities to their surprise.

"I finally managed to pick up our mail," Remus said exhaustedly as he drew closer, removing the bundle of papers from his knapsack and dropping it on the table as he collapsed on the chair across Sirius. "There was a letter from Dumbledore as well but I didn't have a chance to read it." He rubbed his eyes as Sirius picked up the letter and tore it open, frowning as he saw the official Hogwarts crest on the top. "I thought about picking up the Daily Prophet finally but the witch still recognizes me and keeps reminding me of her policy not to serve - "

"Remus."

The werewolf stopped and dropped his hand, amber eyes immediately alert as he grasped his wand in reaction to his friend's stiffness. Black eyes were still scanning the letter but Sirius was already standing up, hand closing the Firewhiskey bottle. "Pack up, we're catching the next train."

"What's happened?" Remus asked worriedly, standing up and rolling up their maps without another word. It had taken them a while but this past year spent as reconnaissance for Dumbledore had gradually brought them back to their former confidence and he did not question why, merely started flicking his wand to eliminate traces of their presence.

"Harry," was all the Animagus said and the werewolf wasted no time, scrambling for their meager belongings.

Sirius shifted into his dog form the moment it was all packed, out the door while Remus fumbled with his cloak, intent on getting to Hogwarts and seeing his godson.

* * *

At Hogwarts, in the Infirmary, the monitoring spells steadily flickered.

Healer Jonas Smethwyck noted their tempo, inwardly sighing as he saw no change from the previous day. The fluctuations had been slowly decreasing since the first day, too little to detect until he brought the medical globes and could see the details. It was far better than what Poppy had given him when he arrived at Hogwarts, the jumps and falls a serious sign of magical mismanagement. He had never seen such variations in his career as one of the lead Healers at St. Mungo's and any magical fluctuation typically meant a worst case scenario for the patient.

' _Then again_ ,' he sighed to himself as finished reading the monitoring spell, ' _my patient hardly conforms to typical standards_.'

He wondered to himself, not for the first time, if maybe he had been slightly too hasty in accepting the case, Minister of Magic and Headmaster of Hogwarts or not.

As if summoned by his idle thoughts, he heard the only door to the room open and looked up from checking the physical monitoring data to see Minister Fudge sweep in, clutching his bowler hat while Headmaster Dumbledore followed behind.

"Any update, Healer Smethwyck?" the nervous Minister asked as his fingers clenched and unclenched on his hat. "Has he…I mean, the recovery is proceeding, yes?"

Jonas fought the urge to sigh and patiently turned to face the men, lowering his wand so that he would not get distracted. It was a delicate enough of a case, he did not need to chance anything.

"As I mentioned to you earlier today, Minister," Jonas said carefully, "the fluctuations in his magic have seemed to stabilized although they are not what I would like to see in a young man of his age nor as consistent across…well, across." He gestured to the beds. "There still have been no effects from any of the treatments we have administered so far."

"What about the Wiggenweld potion?" blurted out Fudge, taking a step closer and then two back, casting a wary eye to the beds as if they were contagious. "I know there was promise to it - "

"Again," said Jonas patiently, watching as Dumbledore carefully polished his glasses with a cloth from his robes, "as I told you before when we administered it two days ago, there has been no effects." They had administered the potion, with its power to awaken a person from a magically-induced sleep, when none of their other treatments showed any reaction in the sleeping pair. And like everything else, it had done nothing except cause suspicious looks from the other staff on the case.

Which was something he really didn't need.

Again, as if summoned by his thought, the other member on the case swept in, ignoring the way the Minister of Magic jumped aside, grimacing and trying not to look at her as she picked up her own chart.

"Surely you must have found something," Fudge said after he shuffled towards Dumbledore and focused on Jonas. "You have had excellent work with magical maladies, specifically splinching and - "

"And like I said at the beginning, Minister, this is not just a case of a wizard splinching himself," Jonas said, wondering how many times he repeated the same thing to the man. "Typical splinching involves leaving one body part behind or misplacing and this…" He gestured towards the beds. "As you can clearly see, this is not that. Nor is it a typical malady or other miscast spellwork. We have made progress in physical stability," he said, overriding the Minister's beginning protests, "and although still thin, there's no longer that danger we had of the bodies shutting down. And, again, although the magical field is still not stable and consistent enough, its decreased fluctuations may allow us to try other treatments that we could not before for fear of causing permanent damage as an unknown effect. For now, all we can do is give time." He glanced over to the woman who was writing something down. "I'm sure collaboration will provide a better solution."

"Cornelius," Dumbledore said gently as Jonas retreated back to his work, "Healer Smethwyck and Ms. Nilsson have everything well in hand and would alert us the moment anything changes. The best we can do is continue to support them as we have and give them their space to work."

"You don't understand, Albus," Fudge said, a touch of desperation in his voice as the older man began to guide him out. "The reporters are out for blood and - " He stumbled over his words and glanced wide eyed over his shoulder.

Nilsson paid him no mind, looking over her experimental vials. Jonas inwardly sighed.

"I am confidant you are doing everything you can to make sure Mr. Potter is well-protected," Dumbledore continued as if he did not hear Fudge's gaffe. "And you well know everyone involved has consented to the Binding Spell to prevent any leak to the press."

"I just don't see why we couldn't have taken them to St. Mungo's," Fudge mumbled as he jammed the bowler hat back on his head. "All this damn secrecy and…and this! Once word gets out of what's happened - "

"We will deal with it then," Dumbledore said firmly as he guided the Minister out of the room. "Until then, let's leave our Healers to their work."

He heard the woman mumble something under her breath and his ears perked up as he caught a word of Swedish. Often times, he heard her speaking to herself but could never place the language but that was clearly Swedish.

' _Maybe she's finally getting more comfortable,'_ Jonas thought, not a small bit hopefully as he adjusted one of the muscle stimulating charms. ' _Wouldn't hurt to try to build rapport again.'_

"There's been no change in our data," Jonas offered as the woman pressed her fingers into the wrist of one of the bodies. "I mean, it's much less than the previous fluctuations we were getting, which is always good but still not what we're expecting from a developing wizard."

She moved her hand over to the head, lightly touching it as she closed her eyes.

Jonas watched, fascinated as her eyes flickered beneath her pale eyelids. She opened them, tilted her head and moved over to the other body and repeated the procedure, the same way she had every day before.

"Are you getting anything different?" Jonas asked curiously as he lowered his wand and watched her brush her fingertips across the scarred forehead. She grimaced and pulled back, rubbing her hand absently against her coat as if wiping something away. He took a step closer and said, "You know, I was also trained in Legilmency during my Psyche rotation, just enough to use it to scan mental effects of spell damage. As I may have mentioned before, the scar is one such remainder and I would be more than happy to assist you - "

He stopped as she sharply looked up, her gray eyes harsh and piercing.

"You will do no such thing," she said sharply, baring her teeth briefly at him. "The Pater Nosferatu has not given approval for you to do so and if you were to even try - "

"I was only offering," he quickly backpedaled, holding up a hand and giving the most apologetic look he could. "I completely understand - "

"Keep to your magic, wizard, and let me do my work," she said stiffly and stalked out of the room before he could say anything else.

He sighed as he watched her open and firmly close the door behind her, briefly catching sight of the guard that was always present, this time the quiet young man with a short spear strapped to his back.

He wearily looked down at his patients.

' _First Healer to work alongside vampires, on Harry Potter no less,'_ he thought as he started the daily nutritional supplement. ' _I have no idea what I was expecting._ '

On the beds continued to sleep the two black-haired young men, breathing deep and steady.

* * *

Verna started, hadn't seen it coming.

She was old, one of the oldest in the world with the rightfully deserved title as Elder of the Zabar family. Her little gift had helped her over the years, something extra that only her family knew about and whispered secretly to each other about. It was why she had smiled when young Opacre had reluctantly opened relations with Albus Dumbledore. How curious it would be if through their alliance she could meet the great-great-granddaughter of her old friend Cassandra Trelawney.

But she had no sense of warning as the premonition came.

Her body stiffened, her eyesight went far and from her lips it came, as she listened with her telepathy, " _The year will be rife with blood and magic, the mirrors will reflect, and all questions will be answered."_

It flooded out of her and she coughed, holding onto her armchair as she stood, ready to call her son on the phone, to make sure the Pater Opacre knew.

"Good to know," a voice said behind her.

Startled, she turned around. The weapon tore jaggedly on her throat's skin.

The vampire stepped back to avoid the gush of blood.

Verna Zabar fell and died, the first of many to come.

* * *

A/N: Welcome! For those of you just joining, you might want to check out "Qye" (keeping in mind it was written over the course of 12 years so my writing has progressed I hope) if you would like more background. You might be able to jump in and I'd be happy to answer questions as I can.

For those of you coming from "Qye", I ask that you look at the rating change. If you couldn't tell by the end of this prologue, this story is going dark although I promise, I am not a believer in tragic endings. There will be a light at the end of this and this story, their story, will finally be completed this year.

I hope you stay with me and I appreciate you taking your time to read, comment or anything. Thank you. See you soon!


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